


Six Times

by InvincibleRodent



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, One Shot, Romance, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5052268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvincibleRodent/pseuds/InvincibleRodent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short, largely unedited drabbles about how Cassandra Pentaghast fell for the Inquisitor, and the six key moments it takes her to realize it. No plot whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Times

The first time she takes notice of the Herald, he’s wheezing on the ground.

All air is ripped from his lungs at once, and he falls to his knees, clutching his stomach with both hands, as if he’s trying to dig his fingers in to smother the pain- his staff rolls off to the side, abandoned. 

The Holy Smite hits him like a shield bash to the gut, and all his magic slips from his fingertips like water, the warm caress of the barrier on his skin replaced by icy claws biting into his cheeks, making his eyes water. Through the panicked thumping of his own heart, he hears the clanking of heavy armor as she rushes to his side, but it’s Solas’ warm hands that coax him back onto his feet.

“Maker’s breath, Seeker.” Varric shakes his head. He places a hand on Edmund’s elbow- the closest he will get to a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“It was an accident.” Cassandra protests, and she hastily bends down to conceal the embarrassment tinting her cheeks under the pretense of collecting the Herald’s staff. One of the carved dragon’s wings chipped as it hit a stay rock, but it seems otherwise undamaged- the statuette’s painted ruby red eyes seem to glare at her, accusing.

“I’m alright-” Ed pants, and pushes himself off Solas; his knees shaking wildly. “It’s just... been a while. Since I’ve been spell-purged. Holy-smitten. Whichever. I just... need to catch my breath.”

“I apologize.” Cassandra says, her hand holding out the staff as if it was an olive branch, and the Herald takes it with a dazed, remorseful smile; weapon temporarily reduced to a walking stick.

“If anyone, I owe you an apology, Lady Pentaghast. I overreacted.” he winces as he tries to straighten his back- Ed sucks in a deep breath, and forces his features into a painfully fake, cheerful grin. “Back in the Circle, we got our spells dispelled for offenses lesser than standing too close. The fault is mine.”

The Seeker’s frown deepens.

Yes, she knows that already. She also knows the years in the Circle have left the man wary of Templars- probably even more so than your average Circle mage. She remembers the airy whine that left his throat when that scout said the Lord Seeker awaits him- it was quiet, so quiet she would have missed it, had the wind been blowing the wrong way-, and she keenly remembers the shuffling half-step he took towards her, knuckles going white on the grip of his staff, when Lucius addressed him.

For a moment, she feels like kicking herself for her carelessness. The man is clearly unnerved by his fellow mages -pulling his hood over his eyes and giving any and every mage a wide berth is a telltale sign of that-, but he’s downright terrified of Templars, and the last thing she wants to do is alienate the world’s last hope.

“It’s alright, honestly. As much as I appreciate the concern-” he straightens himself, and finally, Varric’s frown eases. “I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.”

“Whatever you say, Twitchy.”

“I will be more careful from now on.” Cassandra states, her shoulders squared, and her reward is a tired, but genuine smile.

_You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you._

From the corner of her eye, she follows his hands as he gathers the escaped strands of hair back into the messy ponytail, high on the back of his head, and Cassandra sighs a quiet prayer for strength.

* * *

 The second time, his scent catches her off guard.

Solas calls for caution, but he doesn’t fall back. Instead, he lunges forward, and with a battle cry, he thrusts the blade of his staff into the eye of the renegade Templar’s helmet.

Cassandra cuts through a sellsword’s cheap, weak mail tunic and rushes to his aid with Andraste’s name on her breath, but before she could lift her blade, the Templar falls over- his entire left side covered in crossbow bolts, like some grotesque hedgehog’s back.

“Th-thanks, Varric.” the mage pants, smoothing the hair back out of his eyes -pale blue, the color of the sky on a cloudy day, has she ever noticed before?- and flashes her a smile. His back is hunched, his weight supported mostly by the staff, the blade of which is now buried deep in the ground, red blooming on his thigh from a long, deep gash.

“Bastard had one more hit in him.” he smiles apologetically “From now on, I think I’m going to leave the bladework to you, Lady Pentaghast.”

She makes a noise at the name -it has been months, and he still insists on calling her that; ‘proper respect for a Seeker of Truth’ he says-, but relief smooths her scowl, and she hoists his arm over her shoulders, shifting his weight off the injured leg.

He smells of lavender and lighting, like lyrium.

“Insult to injury.” he breathes, but he gratefully leans onto her. “Thank you. I’ll... try not to be such a hindrance. Still a touch... unaccustomed, to fighting.”

“You are getting the hang of it.” she reassures “For someone who has never fought before, you are improving quite quickly.”

He gives a quiet laugh, the scent of mint leaves and a twinge of blood in his breath.

“Who’s flattering who now, Lady Cassandra?”

For but a second, she could swear from the corner of her eye, she saw a light, pretty pink dusting on the highs of his cheekbones.

* * *

The third time, his profile, lit by the warm glow of a campfire, makes her heart flutter.

“Conquests?” Edmund laughs, his posture finally relaxed as he leans against a stump, one of his legs stretched out, the other tucked under the crook of his knee, staff laid across his lap. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you, my friend.”

“Oh come on, Boss-” the mercenary’s deep, rumbling baritone rings with the pleasant buzz of inebriation, and Cassandra scrunches her nose. “-surely that Circle of yours is no celibacy sentence. Dozens of people locked in a tower, together...”

“More like my _face_ is the celibacy sentence.” the Herald smiles cordially- her eyes now follow the corner of his mouth that always slips slightly higher than the other, almost as a habit. “Unfortunately, I ended up with all the magic, my little brother got all the charm. He has these... impossibly blue eyes, that every girl I fancied seemed to go mad for...”

“I’m pretty sure the Seeker thinks you’re plenty handsome, Twitchy.” Varric laughs into his ale, drunk enough that he hardly notices the cutting glare Cassandra shoots him over the rim of the mug she left lingering an inch from her lips.

“I do not.” she hisses, and the men laugh.

“Gentlemen, I implore you-” Ed squints, and for a moment, something much like hurt flashes across his face “-you’re making the lady uncomfortable.”

“Eh, wouldn’t blame her- the Boss is pretty easy on the eye.” Bull shrugs, and Cassandra is almost sure her ears just caught fire. Edmund rolls his eyes.

“Of course. The ladies just can’t resist my noodly limbs and gigantic nose. What a catch. I’m breaking hearts practically everywhere I go.”

“I’d give you a strong six out of ten. Buy me a drink, maybe even a seven.”

“Someone catch me, I’m swooning.” Ed mocks “If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re hitting on me.”

“I like pretty things; pretty people. I’d hit on the Seeker too, if I didn’t value my nuts. Now she, she’s a solid nine point five.”

One major drawback of an ally with just one eye is that it makes telling whether he’s winking or blinking quite difficult. Just to be sure, she scowls at him either way.

* * *

 The fourth time, her fingers grow numb with worry, so she holds on to her faith with white knuckles and an iron grip.

Her heart is pounding in her throat as she rushes through the makeshift camp, towards the lump of samite and nugskin that all but blends into the blinding whiteness of the snow, and she thanks the Maker for his benevolence among a dozen erratic heartbeats.

The mage’s lips are a frighteningly deep shade of purple, and without thinking, she pushes past Cullen and gathers the cold, limp body into her arms.

She has never noticed before just how little this man weighs. Even in full armor, even with the meat three regular meals and a warm cot in Haven put on his bones, this man a head taller than her is still like a child in her arms. Some emotion akin to pride wells up in her chest under the layers upon layers of concern- this foolish, foolish man is keenly aware of his weak constitution, Maker damn it, and yet, he put himself between the village and... whatever that thing was, and dragged himself all the way up a mountain in waist-deep snow... Such a feat takes a hero or a fool.

She leans a bit more towards fool.

_You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you._

She paces around the camp, watching the healers work, powerless- they down lyrium potion after lyrium potion without a word spoken, and as much as Cassandra had longed for silence, now it only unnerves her further.

Just when they had thought they had won, the Maker decided to take their hero away from the people, like He took His bride.

Andraste’s Herald, Andraste’s fate. How ironically fitting.

With an indignant huff, Cassandra sinks to her knees again, and she prays.

Prays that the Maker would be satisfied with the death he has seen today.

* * *

 The fifth time, she realizes she has fallen.

The first kiss is impulsive- the words of her trainers echo in her head - _Cassandra, you’re too brash. You must think before you act._ \- but the pleasant scratch of that perpetually unshaven face and those deceptively thin, pale lips against hers blow all concern out of her mind. The scent of the storm on his breath and the inkstains dotting his fingers are too real, too close to allow her to think of anything else, and the large, cool hands cradle her jaw with such gentleness...

“Does my being a mage... not bother you?” he breathes, frightful, and she only responds by kissing him again; her hands fly to his chest and fist the soft fabric of his tunic.

She falls, falls deep- only hoping that he is falling with her, that if she ever hits the bottom, he will be there to catch her, or continue tumbling down into the abyss by her side.

Her strong thighs cradle his hips as they tremble together, back taut as a bow, and he spends deep inside her with but a sigh.

It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and her fingers knot themselves into long, chestnut hair as she slumps onto his chest, boneless. His soft chuckle coaxes a smile onto her face as well.

“I love you.” he breathes, magic-warmed fingers stroking circles into the small of her back, and right here, right this second, she believes it.

She begs the Maker’s forgiveness as he kisses her godless.

She tries not to imagine the smug grin Varric is going to wear once he finds out.

* * *

 The sixth time, she knows she's home.

He had put on more muscle since he was named Inquisitor, but he still carried an air of softness- the mound of his belly is littered with coarse hairs, arranged in a neat line; his arms have grown stronger, but his thighs are still slim and wiry- she smiles fondly when he attempts to conceal himself and nudges his hands out of the way.

“Bull was right about one thing-” she muses “-you are easy on the eyes.”, and her easy laugh fills the little room as he flushes a bright red from the shoulders up.

“From you, that sounds like charity, Lady Cassandra.” he scoffs in mock indignation “But I won’t be the one to tell you just how biased you are.”

“Why, it is not bias, my lord.”

“Then you are not allowed to cry lies and slander when I compliment you, either.” he grins, arms sneaking around her waist, and she rolls her eyes as she falls forward onto his chest, wan winter morning light and fragile fingers caressing the faint scars that stripe her back.

She surveys the bare patches of skin under his stubble, the nigh-permanent sunburn stretching down his long, curved nose, the slit in his eyebrow, and feels in love.

The words slip from her lips before she can even think to stop them, and he repeats them freely.

She whispers gratitude in a kiss above his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at writing Cassandra- I must admit, it's easier writing without too much pronoun-fuckery. :)
> 
> Ed is supposed to be my canon Inquisitor's older brother, and frankly, the only reason this playthrough exists is because I wanted to make him in the character creator.  
> And because I quite like to emphasize just how strong and beautiful Cassandra is- what better way to do that than to ship her with an unfit, not conventionally attractive and very insecure dude-mage who's completely (holy) smitten by her?
> 
> I have a [a tumblr](http://www.weresquirrel.tumblr.com) , in case anyone is interested! :) Mostly I write Dorian/warrior!Trevelyan stuff (ranging from tooth-rotting fluff to clumsily written smut), and I'm quite good at hitting reblog.


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